Page 64 of I Wish I Would’ve Warned You (Forbidden Wishes #3)
COLE
M y father is facing six new federal charges—serious ones that could finally put him behind bars.
Not just the DUI.
Fraud. Obstruction. Tax evasion. Things that were buried under hush money and campaign favors until recently. Things I always suspected but could never prove.
Part of me wonders if he’ll survive in prison. If he’ll manage without tailored suits, private jets, and five-star dinners served on demand.
The other part of me—the louder, colder part—thinks he’s getting exactly what he deserves.
I unlock the front door of my gallery and step into the dark, preparing for another week of sold-out shows. My phone buzzes with RSVP updates and a waiting list that’s somehow still growing.
But when I flick on the lights, the devil himself is sitting on my main sofa.
“If you hurry and leave, I won’t call the police and have you arrested for breaking and entering,” I say, my voice flat.
“I need to talk to you before I have to prepare for trial.”
“They have phones in prison,” I reply, setting down my bag. “Try not to use all three hundred of your monthly minutes on pointless calls.”
“Any other advice?” he asks.
“Yeah. Keep to yourself. Don’t pull any of your manipulative bullshit in there. Your new roommates are way out of your league.”
He almost smiles. “I’ll remember that. Thank you.”
“You can leave the same way you came in.” I walk toward the back wall, ready to start re-centering frames.
But instead of standing, he stays seated, voice softer now. “Cole, I came here to apologize. For real. Not to play mind games, not to spin my side of the story—I just want to say I’m sorry.”
I don’t say anything.
“I know I’ve hurt you more times than I can count.
I spent years prioritizing optics and strangers over my own son.
I let my ego, my career, and my image come before your safety, your truth, your future.
” His voice catches. “And the worst part is, I let you take the fall for my mistake. I watched you get swallowed by a system I should’ve protected you from. ”
Still, I say nothing.
“I can’t undo it. I wish to God I could,” he continues. “But I want to spend whatever time I have left—on this side of the bars or the other—trying to make things right. Not because I expect your forgiveness. Just because you deserve that much.”
I glance at him, trying to gauge if this is just another performance.
“I haven’t touched a drink since the night you walked out,” he adds, like he can feel my doubt. “No rehab center yet, but I’ve started individual therapy, and I’ve already asked the court to allow me into group sessions once I’m in custody.”
He shifts forward on the couch, elbows on his knees. “You were right about me and Heather.”
That catches me off guard.
“We’ve been over for a long time,” he says. “We just kept pretending. Playing house. Smiling for cameras, throwing parties, posting anniversary photos like it meant something.” His jaw tightens. “We were living in a fairytale that didn’t exist. And I dragged you into it.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know what to say to any of this.
I’m not ready to forgive him. Not completely. But maybe—just maybe—I can stop hating him enough to see if he means it this time.
Before I can open my mouth, he clears his throat.
“I hired a few private investigators to help me find Emily.”
My chest tightens. “You did what?”
“I figured if you weren’t going to look for her, I could at least try. I know what she meant to you. What she still means.”
I clench my jaw. “And?”
“They found her,” he says. “She’s staying off-grid, but I know where she’ll be this weekend.”
“You knew this whole time and led with a speech?”
“I had to say the hard things first,” he says. “But I’m saying this now: if you still love her, don’t waste another second.”
He stands and hands me a folded slip of paper, his eyes bloodshot, but clearer than I’ve seen in years.
“She’s your real fresh start,” he says. “Not your art. Not these shows. Her.”
And with that, he walks out the front door, leaving it open behind him.
Letting the choice be mine.